


Ruin

by ricepaperboi



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Amputation, Friendship, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2019-10-05 23:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17334128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricepaperboi/pseuds/ricepaperboi
Summary: Steve hesitates. He takes in a slow breath and tries to find the right words as if there were such a thing in situations like these. He gives a stuttering exhale as he swipes a tear from his cheek. “Vision’s beam burned through one of your wing alignment,” he finally says. “Your pack and emergency chute were too damaged to maintain flight.”Alt timeline of CA:CW's airport scene.





	1. Chapter 1

Sam shifts with changing wind currents. Metal wings cut through rushing air with ease of familiarity. It is as natural for him as breathing. Movement is as instinctual as a heartbeat. Body shifts without thought to catch an updraft. He jolts. There comes a series of muffled pops, crackling of wires, and the smell of burning. Left wing drops useless on its broken frame. Gravity reclaims Sam with frightening speed for a downward spiral. The ground rushes to greet him with tenacity and expectation. The sky remains a constant blue just out of reach. Sam tries for the emergency chute. Tendrils of parachute cord and scraps of nylon litter the air like bad joke confetti.

Tony and Rhodey turn simultaneously the instant they realize what has happened--what is happening. Suits are pushed to their limits. They race each other and time and cannot help except watch as Sam struggles to gain some control. They push themselves, helpless as Sam against the absolutes of physics.  
Death always held an uncomfortable familiarity with Sam. Periods had gone by where it felt as though he was wading in it, as though the entire universe was conspiring to throw it his way. A loss is no longer surprising. Sam is not scared of death; it is dying that scares the shit out of him. This is a freefall to a certain death, and Sam cannot be anything more than an unwilling participant. 

Tony is closest. His hand reaches out. Fingertips are a hair's breadth away.

Sam knows what a fall victim looks like, the way the body reacts to meeting an immovable object. He knows how the body breaks apart fragile as glass. He does not want to be a bloody mess of bone and muscle splattered on the airport lawn. He does not want himself spilled out on the grass. What he wants is to give Death the finger and walk away from this. 

Sam wraps as much of his wings around himself as he can. He tries to focus on the sky and not what this means for his sister, Sarah, and what little family they have left. He tries not to think of what this means for Steve. 

 

The ground is unyielding, but Sam will only remember a searing pain in his legs for the briefest second before everything cuts to black.

~

Clint spits. A perfectly thick mess dribbles down the glass of his cell right where Tony’s face is. Clint throws the other a glare laced with disgust as he sits on the edge of his thin prison mattress, hands clasped between his knees. He looks almost foreign in his prison jumpsuit stark against the glaring white walls of his cell.

“You haven’t even heard what I have to say,” Tony says in a low voice. He stands with legs slightly apart, leaning forward shoulders hunched with exhaustion. Eyes are ringed with lack of sleep, brow furrowed in frustration. Hair is mussed from the countless times he has run his fingers through it.

“I don’t care what you have to say.” Clint turns his glare from to Tony and stares ahead at the wall. 

“You can hate me all you want I just need to get in touch with Steve—”

“So you can tell him how you almost killed Sam?” Clint turns his head slightly to give a glare so intense a shiver runs down Tony’s spine. “What makes you think he doesn’t already know?” 

Mouth twists in a frown. “What happened was an accident.”

“How does something like that happen and you get to call it an accident?” 

A muscle ticks in the engineer’s jaw. “I didn’t want to fight,” he snaps, “but we were all there. We were all ready to go head to head. None of us are innocent.” 

“We’re not. But I’m in here, you’re out there, and Sam is in a hospital somewhere. Who’s paying the bigger price?”

Anger tinged with guilt occupies all of Tony. Heart stutters, eyes prick with tears, ears warm. “We were a team. You were supposed to take my side. Sam was supposed to pick my side. If you had just listened to me we wouldn’t have to be here.” 

“Forcing us to take your side doesn’t sound like much of a team.” 

Tony massages the back of his neck roughly and takes a slow breath. With a few swipes across his watch, Tony shuts off the audio to the security feeds. He shows Barton. “I played this wrong. And, yeah let’s say it’s my fault the team is split up. But I need to know where Steve is--as a friend or maybe...maybe just someone that cares. Barton, I can make one thing right, but I need to do it fast.”

Clint stands and gives the engineer a predatory stare. Every line in his body is taunt like the only thing saving Tony is a thick prison glass. Discomfort taints the air and hair stand on end. 

“You know what we saw before they arrested us,” Clint says, voice dangerously low.

Stomach does flips. Tony is struck by the image of bones punching through skin, everyone all trying to keep Sam from bleeding out, keep Sam breathing. “I know what you saw,” he whispers, unable to meet Clint’s stare.

“You need to hope Steve didn’t see it too.” 

Stark looks up sharply. “Is that a threat?”

“You don’t know Steve as well as you think you do, Tony.”

Tony turns on his heel, quickly accepting the realization that nothing he says will make Clint forgive him enough to tell him where Steve is. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his suit. 

“He’s still alive, right?”

Tony stops on his way out the door and looks at Scott. 

“He’s still alive?” Scott asks again. “You’re not lying to get to Rogers?” 

Tony shakes his head. “Sam’s too stubborn to die. At least, not before he gives me the finger and chews me out.” He steps closer to Scott’s cell. “He's got a good team but it isn’t looking good and Steve could be in serious trouble. I need to find him. Fast.” 

Scott traces bottom lip with the knuckle of his thumb. “I think...I think I might know where they went.”

~

“Sam, you have wake up. Please, wake up.”

“—accident. We were trying…”

“I don’t understand. How did this happen? How did could this happen?” 

Voices get drowned out in the myriad of thoughts. Cutting beneath all that, Sam recognizes his sister’s voice, shaky and uncertain. He recognizes Tony and Rhodey’s voices, tones carrying a note of fear. A feeling of dread pools in Sam’s stomach but dissipates beneath a morphine drip of relief. Lips press a soft kiss to his brow. Sam is made almost comatose under the steady administration of pain killers. 

“Your sister is going to drag my sorry ass straight to hell.” 

Steve’s voice burrows through medicated haze. It takes effort to hold on to words that seem to distort and echo in the ear. 

“Not that I don’t deserve it,” Steve continues, “I just…I need you to wake up, Sam, because I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t. So, please, wake up.”

Waking feels like drowning. Every breath rattles Sam. Everything hurts yet has the sensation of belonging to someone else. It is like an echo going through his body that leaves him dizzy. He struggles into consciousness, barely managing to crack his eyes open. Blurred and dimly lit, Sam can see Steve sitting at his bedside, sitting on the edge of the narrow hospital chair. It takes a second, but Steve catches Sam’s stare and seems to freeze.

“Hi,” Sam mouths, breath catching in the back of his throat.

Steve winces. A tremble works its way down his body and eyes well with tears. “I’m sorry. Sam, I’m sorry.”

“Steve…” Sam presses his lips tight as frustration begins to weigh. Words he wants to say get stuck between thought and action. It takes a Herculean effort just to keep his eyes open.

“Sam?” Steve rise from his seat and ghosts the knuckles of his hand of Sam’s cheek. “Stay with me this time, ok? Stay with me, Sam.” 

Sam drags his tongue over dry and cracked lips before he looks around with some confusion. Eyes struggles to focus on the morphine drip hanging above his head, the heart monitor, the oxygen tube running over the back of the bed connecting to nasal cannula. Panic begins its insidious hold, burying into the marrow of his bones and piggybacking off instinctive fear. 

“Steve--” Breath comes hard and fast.

“Breathe, Sam,” Steve demands. His eye flicks fearfully to the heat monitor which has begun to quicken its pace. “Breathe. You’re ok. You’re ok.”

“I can’t…” Sam grates out through sandpaper throat. “I can’t remember….What happened?”

Steve hesitates. He takes in a slow breath and tries to find the right words as if there were such a thing in situations like these. He gives a stuttering exhale as he swipes a tear from his cheek. “Vision’s beam burned through one of your wing alignment,” he finally says. “Your pack and emergency chute were too damaged to maintain flight.” Steve’s voice trembles.

“I fell.” Sam says in a rasping breath. Bits and pieces of memory fall precariously into place. “How bad?” 

Steve’s eye trails down the hospital bed, wander over the bulk of what could only be heavy bandages or casts beneath the thin blankets. He drags his stare back up to meet Sam’s eye. “Your spine…T9 through T12 was shattered. They’re waiting to see how much damage…Sam, the doctors say you might not be able to walk.” A beat. 

“I’m going to make this right. I’m going to—”

“I’m alive,” Sam breathes. Eyes squeeze shut and teeth clench to keep from crying.But every stuttering inhale sharpens the pain. Tears eek out from closed eyelids.

Steve hovers over Sam. “What is it? Where does it hurt?”

And through the disorienting haze of pain and pain killers, Sam can only give the rasping reply, “Everywhere.” As if he did not feel his existence continued by pain, as if it were not now an extension of himself.

Hospital doors give a quiet groan as it opens. Bucky leans through the doorway with a carefully neutral expression on his bruised and pale face. “Stark is inbound. We don’t have a lot of time, Steve.”

“I’m staying.” Steve looks over his shoulder at Bucky. “Get out of here, Buck.”

“Steve--”

“I’m not leaving him.”

“You can’t stay. They won’t let you.”

“Bucky,” Sam rasps. “Take him. Go.” 

“Sam…” Steve bites hard at his lower lip before he leans over the bedrail. “I’ll come back,” he breathes. “I’ll make it right.” 

“Go,” the airman mouths, barely able to keep his eyes open. Sam listens to the sounds of Steve and Bucky leaving. He tries not to be overwhelmed by the hurt, by the brokenness of his body. He is terrified, but he knows even now that having Steve present would only make things worse. 

Sam breathes slowly as he hovers in the limbo of morphine-dimmed agony. Minutes go by and there comes the ding of the elevator and a murmur of voices. The door clicks open quietly. 

“He’s most likely still in this building,” comes Tony’s low voice. “Lock it down, but don’t engage if you spot him.” 

The door clicks again. A sigh. Sam wants to open his eyes, but he struggles against medicated lethargy. High pitched beats from the heart monitor break the silence. Chair gives a squeal as it is pulled into place closer to the bed. There comes a heavy exhale that brings an awful mix of misery and frustration.

“Clearly—I mean, clearly—there is some grand scheme at play. There has to be. There has to be. Things don’t go this wrong for no reason, right? You’re a preacher’s son so you should know.” Tony murmurs. He gives a stuttering exhale that ends with a cracking sob. “Did he know this whole time? Why would he...why would he hide it? Did he tell you, Sam? Did you know, too? Everything is going so wrong, Sam. And I can’t fix it. I can’t fix any of this.”

“Tony,” Sam says in a rasping breath. “What the hell...are you talking about?” 

A loud clatter sounds as Tony jerks to his feet so quickly he knocks over his seat. And when Sam opens his eyes, he sees the engineer standing over his bedside. A mix of relief and fear etches across Tony’s face quickly replaced by realization. “I have to—your doctor. I have to go get your doctor,” he says as he makes a dash for the door.

The next moment is spent in neat silence. Sam shuffles through thoughts at a sluggish pace. Bits of memory come together like assembling shards of glass. Everything feels as though it is shifted just slightly out of place. A persistent ache seeps down to the marrow of his bone.

Tony walks back into the room with a doctor right on his heels, someone Sam knows with passing familiarity.

“Am I that bad?” Sam asks, a crooked smile twists his mouth as he tries to focus on Helen Cho. “I mean, you’re kind of the one of big guns for this kind of thing, aren’t you?” 

“I specialize in genetics, but you guys know how to keep me versatile.” Helen smiles slightly, distracted. Her fingers fly across the tablet in her hands and her mouth turns into a thoughtful frown. 

“Where’s the trauma surgeon? I want...I want to talk to them.” Sam swallows hard against sandpaper throat.

“I’ve paged him. Until then I want to ask you some questions.” She turns her head slightly to where Tony is hovering over her shoulder. “I’m going to need you to lea--”

As she speaks, Vision materializes through the wall. He swaps cape for cardigan in the effort to seem more civilian. His eyes read nothing but regret as he looks at Sam. But all Sam can see is the gem embedded in his forehead and all he knows is the smell of burning and fear and falling.

“Sam, I would like to express--”

Sam shifts and is overwhelmed with pain. Eyes close so he does not have to see the others watching him, making a spectacle out of his pain, walking around like its nothing. 

“BP is rising. Out both of you,” Cho snaps. She reaches around the bed to call an emergency page. “Sam, I can give you a mild sedative you just have to breathe through it for now.” 

“I can’t,” Sam replies in a strained breath. “I can’t breath.” Everything, everywhere feels as though it had been doused in gasoline and set aflame. He envies them with their ease of breath and lack of pain. 

“You’re bleeding through your gown. Shit. Sam, I need to take a look at your incision sight. I need a nurse in here now.”

“Where’s Steve,” Sam croaks out without even realizing it, “I need Steve.” 

“I can attempt to locate him.”

The sound of Vision’s voice alone makes Sam heart seize. Lips press tight to hold back a cry of pain. Eyes squeeze shut. Sam tries to concentrate on breathing. Cho’s hands are pulling up his gown, ghosting along his sides. 

“What did you do to him?” 

At the sound of Steve’s enraged voice, Sam’s eyes fly open. Steve in halfway through the door with a look of rage plastered across his face. Steve’s gaze locks on Tony and he looks like he is about to lunge at the engineer. Neither seem willing to engage in anything intense, but neither can ignore the simmering tension. 

“I didn’t do anything,” Tony hisses under his breath. 

Steve takes a menacing step toward Tony, stopped only by the firm hand Vision has on his chest. Steve looks down at it for a moment before dragging his glare up to meet Vision’s eye. “Get your hands off of me,” he commands in a low voice. It is the most dangerous tone Sam has heard him use yet.

“Captain Rogers, I do not wish to fight. We are both here for the same reason.” 

“Same reason?” Steve repeats incredulously. “You’re the reason he’s here.” 

Sam is crying albeit silently. He does not make a sound, yet tears are flooding his eyes and streaming down his cheeks. He wants to tell them all to shut up. He wants the world to just stop for a moment. It is all he can do not to scream.

“Hey, this isn’t his fault,” Tony interjects hotly. “No one wanted this to happen. Don’t blame us.” 

“If it was Pepper?” Steve shoots back. His voice cracks and abject sorrow floods in. “If it was Rhodey? Who would you blame?” 

Miraculously, Cho has a single minded focus. She ignores the others and wipes the tears from Sam’s cheeks with a careful smile. “Breathe for me. It’s going to be ok.”

“Did you tell him?” Tony asks, half an octave away from yelling. “Does he know Barnes killed my parents?” 

Sam stares up at Helen. Vision begins to blur. He opens his mouth to speak but cannot manage more than a pained exhale from between clenched teeth.

“You think he would ever keep that from you?”

~

“I can't promise Ross will stay away forever, but I can buy you some time.” 

“This is on me. He shouldn’t be here, Tony, you know that.” 

“It's all I can do not to get the entire block shut down. This is the best medical team in this hemisphere. He’s going to get the best care possible.”

“Wait...wait. Look he’s coming around. Sam? Sam, can you hear me?”

Sam struggles to raise himself from the torrid formation of thoughts to muster enough energy to open his eyes. Vision blurs to the outlines of Steve and Tony standing above him.

“Steve…” Sam gets out through a throat rough as sandpaper. 

“I’m right here.”

Sam blinks owlishly. “My sister….” Teeth clench against a spasm of pain.

“I’ll get the doctor,” Tony says quickly.

“Stop,” Sam grits out. “My sister--”

“She’s on her way.”

“No. I don’t...I don’t want her here. Don’t bring her here. You promise me.”

Steve ghosts knuckles across the unbruised delineations of Sam’s face. “Of course. Don’t worry about anything.”

A litany of curses runs off the pilot’s tongue. “What happened?”

Silence. Steve looks at Tony and Tony looks at his feet. Lower lip is held between teeth. Body language screams of discomfort.

“You were shot down,” Tony finally answers. “It was...we…”

“I’m paralyzed.” Sam swallows hard. Eyes go up to meet Steve’s stare. “I feel like I’ve been...hit by a bus, but I can’t...I can’t feel my legs.” 

“Sam,” Steve says quietly, “the impact when you hit the ground shattered your vertebrae. It wasn’t just your spine. Your leg was...they couldn’t save it.”

Sam looks down at the multitude of tubes running from beneath the mussed blankets. All semblance of thought leaves him. “Well, shit,” he breathes. The sound of machines beeping.

“Are you ok?” Steve cringes even as he poses the question.

Head turns to look out the window. City lights dot the dark in clusters. Gaze is unfocused and lights quickly begin to blur together. Brow furrows. “Vision shot me down?”

“He was supposed to shoot your pack,” Tony answers. “It was supposed to take your thrusters offline. This wasn’t supposed to happen.” 

Sam turns his head to look at Tony and it is as if his spine is set alight. “It doesn’t matter, does it? I got caught and Ross will have me on the next plane...to some remote prison. You won.”

"I didn't want this," Tony replies almost helplessly. “I can keep Ross out of here for awhile. You just work on getting better. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“Funny.” Sam swallows hard and he swears he can taste blood. “When I was a medic...I used to tell soldiers the same thing. It’s not always true, is it?” 

Tony averts his gaze. Throat clears. “I’ll let everyone know you’re up.” 

Steve watches him go before turning his eye to Sam. “I know you’re angry as hell, but don’t worry about any of that for now.” He moves slowly around the bed, stepping carefully around wires and tubes, bags of draining bodily fluids. Steve leans over and very carefully touches his forehead to Sam’s.

“Christ, I thought I lost you,” Steve breathes.

Pain shakes its way through nerve endings. “Not that easy.” 

Steve pulls back and there is a negative space between them. “I’m so sorry. I never should have asked you--”

“Shut up.” Sam inhales and a spasm of pain tears into him. Tears well in the corners of eyes. “I knew there were risks. I did what I thought...was right. Just tell me it was worth it.” 

“We finished the mission. I can't say if it was worth this.”

Sam nods once and immediately regrets it. “God everything hurts.” Eyes close and he tries not to sob in abject frustration. He exhales a slow, shaky breath and that hurts too.

“I’ll get the doctor.” 

“No. You should go, Steve. I heard...I heard what happened to Tony’s pa--” Another spasm rips through him. Sam would have curled into the fetal position if he could have moved. 

“You’re in pain, Sam. I’m getting the doctor.” 

Steve is out the door before Sam can think to protest again. But he soon comes back with a doctor in tow. In the end, they slip a mild sedative into Sam’s IV to keep him writhing in pain. 

Glassy-eyed and tongue heavy, Sam tries to ask a question but he is pumped so full of medications he is barely aware that time has changed and the night sky gives way to a cloudless blue. He does manage to settle his stare on where Steve is sitting on the hospital chair. Sunk low in his seat and jacket draped over his torso, Steve dozes in the morning light.


	2. Chapter 2

In the days that follow, pain has time to settle into bone marrow and nerve endings. It gets intimate with heartbeats and breath Sam feels married to it. 

“Did you hear me, Sam?” 

Sam drags himself out of a dilaudid haze and turns his gaze from a smudge on the window and the backdrop of night sky. Steve is standing at his bedside with a determined look etched on his face that Sam has seen before a dozen foolhardy missions. 

“You’re going to do something dangerous.” 

“More troublesome than dangerous.” Something shifts in Steve’s face. Something like regret flashed in those blue eyes. “I have to leave for awhile, Sam. I hate it, but I won't leave you for long. I promise.” 

Stomach turns. “You’re scaring me.” 

“Don’t be scared.” Steve leans over the bed and lays his hand gently on the curve of Sam’s neck. He tries so hard to sound reassuring. “Everything is going to be ok.”

Tears cling to lashes, and Sam does not know why but he cannot help but cry. The tears spill over, running down his cheek, soaking the pillow. “I don’t want to be alone.” He feels like a child when he says it. An old wound tears itself open and refuses to be ignored. He remembers the cold of the hospital morgue, his mother’s tear-stained face turning to a hardened mask as she took his hand. 

“I’m coming back for you.” Steve’s voice cracks. “I’m not going to leave you here, do you hear me? And I’ll be around. You just have to say the word and I’ll come running.” A breathed curse escapes him as tears spill over to trail along the bridge of his nose, along the curve of his lip. He wipes the tears away roughly with the heel of his hand. “I’m sorry, Sam. I’m so sorry for how this shook out.” 

Sam closes his eyes and swims through the fluidity of time that the drugs allow him. He inhales slowly. Eyes open and Sam wants to say how much he hates everyone’s apologies, how he hates hospitals just as much. But the room is empty except for the beeps of machines and Sam’s choked sobs. 

~

“Incredible. You couldn’t wait a couple more days? You couldn’t wait until he was better?” 

Tony voice is a half step away from an stage whisper, and he paces the length of the room. Body is taunt. Hand is clenched around a cheap flip phone and his face is etched with agitation. Sam watches him through eyes half mast, caught up in the steady movements. Phone is shut with all the calm of a person who has just been told to remain calm. For a brief moment, it seems as though Tony were about to pitch it across the room before he thinks better of it and shoves it into the back pocket of his jeans. And he stops in the middle of the room with fingers curled beneath his chin as he gets lost in thought standing in the spill of sunlight. 

“He’s gone, isn’t he?” 

Tony turns on his heel with a look of surprise. Almost immediately, a smile forces its way onto his lips. “Hey, how you feeling? They feeding you ok?”

“There’s a tube in my nose, Tony. And I feel like hell. Thanks for asking.” Gaze shifts away from Tony, going across the room and out the door. The blue scrubs and white walls are undercut by the solid black uniforms of guards. Nurses exchange glances between themselves, whispering behind their hands as they watch the armed guards communicate via earpiece. 

Tony follows Sam’s gaze and moves quickly to close the door, leaving it only slightly ajar and without view of the hall.

“You should start PT soon,” Tony says as he walks back around to the side of the bed, back to the door. His voice is filled with forced optimism. “There’s a doctor in Baltimore that specializes in nerve regeneration. She’s flying in tonight for a consult, but she already took a look at your chart and says you have a good chance of getting some feeling back. With some help, you can walk.” 

Sam gaze seem to go through Tony. He can hear them out in the hall, distinctive authoritative voices relying information back and forth like machines. His eyes are stuck on one of the buttons on Tony’s suit jacket. “It doesn’t matter.” The words are indifferent. Sam cannot bring himself to muster the energy that emotions require. 

Tony looks as if he had been struck. “Of course it matters. Sam, if I can correct the stabilizers on the prosthetic I’ve been working on then you could walk again. You could _walk_.” 

Brain is static. Sam can feel his heart beat, the blood slogging through his veins, body struggling to piece itself back together. Tony kneels to meet Sam’s eye line. Teeth are digging into his lower lip. 

Sam drags in a breath. “You should go home.”

“I don’t want to go home,” Tony replies quietly. His voice breaks almost imperceptibly. “I want to sit here with my friend. I want to sit here with you, Sam, and I want to know you’re going to be ok.” 

And Sam watches him speak. The other’s lip trembles and his eyes are growing red and well with tears. It reminds him of the desert. In another life when he was digging sand out his ears and he heard those words from a man had loved and lost. And Sam’s chest begins to ache in a way that leaves him breathless. 

“Sam, I’m sorry.”

A shiver runs down broken vertebrae. Sam tries not to think of a man with sandy blonde hair and eyes like sea glass. “Stop. I can’t...take anymore apologies.” Chin lifts and he nearly cries aloud. 

The heart monitor spikes only briefly but Tony jerks to his feet with a look of concern. He relaxes somewhat when Sam gives a steady exhale. The engineers eyes go over the hospital like a visual checklist, all those doctorates and masters degrees going to work in his head. Then he stops. 

“What’s this?” Tony leans over the bed to reach across and pluck some thing from between the fold of the blanket. A metallic clink sounds. 

Sam looks with as little movement as is possible to see Tony dangling a pair of dog tags between thumb and forefinger. They catch the light, imprinted metal clinking together. 

“They’re Steve’s.”

Sam just stares at them for awhile. “Can you...can you put them in my hand?” 

There comes a split second of hesitation before the small bits of metal are pressed into calloused palm. 

Sam pushes his thumb against the metal, digging it into his palm. He stares at the bruises on Tony’s face, remembers the faded ones on Steve’s. “What happened in Serbia?”

Head turns. Tony gives a short, humorless bark of a laugh. “Serbia? T’Challa got the man who killed his father. Barnes...Barnes is gone if that’s what you’re asking.” 

Something tugs at untethered memory. Word associations drag him along. “I heard you. When I came out of surgery, you were yelling, but I can’t…”

Several seconds of silence pass. “That’s a question for another day. I think...I think I need a minute.” 

As soon as Tony leaves, Sam is sorry he said anything at all because the silence is weighing on him, getting him lost in memories of the airport lawn he does not care to dwell on. Solitude does not last long before the door opens again. Tony comes back with a   
tautness in his stride as he paces the length of the room a couple times before going to stand at the foot of the bed. He grips the handrail so hard the plastic creaks. 

“What happened?” Sam asks as he stares at the bowed head before him. He may be drugged, but he is not oblivious. He knows a pervasive anger fueled tension when he sees one. “What did Steve do?” 

Another humorless laugh. “What did your boyfriend do? You mean besides make the international most wanted list or break the others out of supermax? They’re all gone by the way. Clint, Steve, Wanda;,” he grows animated, checking them off on his fingers. “Everyone is gone, and there are a hundred guards crawling around the ICU because Ross thinks your boyfriend is stubborn enough to try and break you out. It’s also the reason why you’re stuck with me instead of your boyfriend.”

“Tony.” 

The other takes a breath and yet seems to deflate. “Sorry. I just…you really don’t remember what we said? Steve didn’t tell you?” 

“No. Blame it on the concussion.” A beat. “What happened out there?” 

Brow furrows. Tony gets lost in thought for a moment. “Did you know about my parents, Sam?” 

Confusion simmers through the haze of drugs and indifference. “They died a while ago. An accident?” 

Tony bites at his lip. He looks outside for a moment before dragging his gaze back to Sam. “Barnes killed them. I watched the surveillance tape from that night. I watched Barnes kill my father then my m--” inhale stutters. “We fought. Steve...he said he was going to get back to you no matter what. I wasn’t going to be the one to stop him. That’s what happened in Serbia.”

“Tony…”

“He didn’t tell you? Steve didn’t tell you?” 

Steve would have let that secret go to his grave knowing Sam’s own history. Sam looks at Tony carefully because he knows that kind of hurt intimately. But only a handful of people know about his father’s murder and the subsequent rise of his troubled youth.   
Sam prefers to keep that to himself. 

“Would it help if I said yes?” 

Tony swallows hard. “No.” 

“Come here, Tony.” 

Tony moves around the bed to carefully lower his head to rest gently on Sam’s shoulder, hand slipping into his for a while. 

Prognosis for full upper mobility is excellent. But until various small fractures and dislocations are healed, Sam’s days are spending doing breathing exercising and stretching the parts that he can. When Tony is not pacing the room and talking aloud through   
plans for prosthetics, Rhodey occupies the chair closest to the bed. Sometimes they speak. More often than not, they are content to sit in silence. Sam takes it in halfheartedly, eyes glassy and half mast on the best of days. And the days roll into one another without significance. Body is suspended between repair and ruin. 

Rhodey comes in after PT like most days. They exchange a casual greeting and do not feel the need to carry on any further. He leans against the wall with arms folded loosely. His eyes are on the heart monitor but they are glazed over and his stare is a thousand miles away. Minutes pass slowly. 

“Rhodes?” 

Rhodey hums in reply as he pulls himself out of his thoughts. “Yeah?” 

“Can I...can I use your phone?” Sam asks almost hesitantly. “I need to call my sister.” 

He shoulders off the wall. “Of course.”

Rhodey types in the number and step back so Sam can speak somewhat privately. 

“Hello?”

At the sound of his sister’s voice, Sam finds himself unable to speak. Throat tightens, chest tightens. He is choking on his grief. He wants to tell her she was right about everything, how it was stupid to go back into the fight and face down aliens and   
superhumans. She was right when she said he would be expendable. She was right when she called him up crying to tell him she was certain he would end up like Riley.

“Hello?” Sarah says again. Her twins are in the background making enough noise to get into trouble. “Sam? Sam, is that you?” 

Sam chokes back a sob that only serves to rattle broken bones and aggravate the forming scar tissue.

“You don’t have to talk, Sam. They won’t let me see you, but I have a feeling part of that was your doing. I get it, you know. It’s not your job to protect me. All the desert sun fried your city brains, you forgot who’s older. I swear, no matter how many of those ugly bucket hats mom would send you and Riley, you two were always sunburnt or near to it with those god-awful goggle imprints on your face.” 

Sam overlooks his sister’s shaking voice and gives a short, hollow laugh. “That poor man. I’ve never seen anyone as red or as sunburnt.” 

Sarah laughs for a moment, a real laugh at the memory, breath crackling on the other end of the line. Then she grows quiet and the atmosphere changes to something more serious. “I’m proud of you, Sam. You know that, right?”

“But I messed up. I got in trouble. Everyone’s gone. It’s just like before when pops--” Voice breaks. “Sarah, I’m scared.” 

“You didn’t mess up. I don’t care what they say.” The phone shifts. “You’re in pain and you’re scared. It’s just like your first tour. Remember?” 

Sam would never forget. He has the scar to serve as a constant reminder, both exit and entrance wounds healed to twisted circular shapes. He takes a slow breath. “This isn’t the same. I won’t be able to walk again. My leg…I’m not coming out of here a free man.” 

“You can keep living after this. After everything you’ve done being a vet, counseling at the VA--for fucks sake, Sam, you practically saved the world.” 

“I really didn’t.” 

“They would be insane to try and lock you up now after everything that happened. Look, I had to keep the kids off the internet because some asshole uploaded video from the airport window about my brother--” A loud, metallic crash sounds on the other end of the line and she grits out a curse from between clenched teeth. A slow, shaky breath crackles the phone line. “Listen, Sam, I knew what you were getting into as soon as you told me you were going to fight again. But this...I want to help you, but I don’t know how. I’d take on the world for you, Sammy. Point me in the right direction so I can kick someone’s ass. Even if it’s yours.” 

“You’re ridiculous.” Worry invades. “The video…”

“Everything was next down in the next couple days. It looks bad when the Avengers start fighting themselves.” She goes quiet for a second. “Tony gave me his number. Someone named Friday has been updating me? And Steve’s been by to check on me and the kids. He said he’s been keeping an eye on you.”

“Steve isn’t here.” Sam touches the dog tags around his neck. “I haven’t seen him in almost two weeks.” 

“He calls, you know. He’s always giving me updates. He said you’re not yourself, that you haven’t been doing as well in PT as the doctor hoped. You’re trying, aren’t you? I swear to God, Samuel Thomas Wilson, you better not halfass your PT.” 

“I’m not. This isn’t going to be Bahrain all over again, is it? I swear you’re worse than a drill sergeant.” 

“Your drill sergeant wishes he has definition like mine. Listen, you’re getting good care? You’re not alone?” 

“You don’t have to worry about my medical care.” Sam gaze goes out the door to where Rhodey is leaning against the nurses station to talk to one of the few available nurses. The other airman happens to turn and his eyes meet Sam’s. “I’m not alone. I should   
go, Sarah.”

“I’m glad I got to hear your voice.” 

Rhodey walks into the room just as Sam hangs up. He takes back his phone as Sam murmurs a thanks. 

“I met her,” Rhodey says as he leans against the wall, “the first couple days you were in here. Sarah Wilson. It was...chaotic, but she really held it together. She can come see you. You know that, right?” 

“No. No, Sarah is terrified of hospitals. Has been ever since we were kids. Our mom practically blindfolded her on the twins’ birthday.” 

“Oh. There’s always video chat.” Rhodey tries to sound genial but falls flat. “Besides, you’ll see her when you get out of here.” 

“Maybe when I get out of here I’ll challenge you to a foot race too.” Sam means it lightheartedly. He really does. But maybe the drugs or the trauma has twisted his sense of humor because Rhodey just stares at him uncertainty. “It was a joke. You can laugh.” 

“I...I can’t laugh at that right now.” 

“Don’t be sad about it.” An unexpected burst of anger burns Sam’s chest. Brow furrows in a mix of frustration and resentment. “It’s not funny at all is? None of it is. You get to stand there and feel good about coming to see the broken ex-somebody, and when   
it gets ugly you can always walk on out. Where the hell is Ross so I can transfer out of here? I’m sick of this room, I’m sick of this bed. I’m sick of you.”

“Do you want a pizza?” 

Sam narrows his eyes. “What?” 

“Do you want a pizza?” Rhodey says again. 

“I…” Sam’s eyes narrow as he glances at the dietary restrictions on his room’s whiteboard. Large letters in red telling him it is bland hospital food for the foreseeable future. “You’re fucking with me.”

“You’re not my type. I just talked to the charge nurse and the doctor gave the go ahead. There’s a shop a couple floors down. It’s not the best, but it’s better than unseasoned meatloaf and applesauce. I’m going to take a walk and grab you a slice.” 

“Leave it.” The sudden burst of anger dissolves, and he is left feeling tired. Sam folds his hand on his lap. He stares at Rhodes firmly. “I shouldn’t have--”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But you should go. You and Tony have been here almost everyday, but it’s enough. You’ve done enough,” Sam says gently. “Go home. Go back to New York. I’m a big boy, Rhodey, and I know what comes next.” 

Rhodey watches him for a moment then drops to the trembling hand Sam lifts in offering. He steps forward and takes Sam’s hand. “I’ll at least drop in and see how you’re doing?” 

“You know where to find me.”


	3. Chapter 3

Sarah was right. With the promised backlash should Ross make an example out of Sam, higher ups were wringing their hands over the implications. Ross was practically tearing out his hair over whether or not to bring down the full weight of an international court on Sam and deal with a massive PR nightmare. 

“I could do it,” Ross says. “If you don’t tell me where Rogers is, I’m going to make sure you’re stuck in the darkest hole I can find. You’ll be under a mountain of security so tight Rogers won’t be able to sneeze near it without setting off an alarm.” 

He looks restless, tie askew and hair hastily palm-smoothed into place. Sam is almost tempted to give him the finger just to show his progress. He does not. Instead, he stays silent through the entire one-sided conversation, watching as Ross dissolves into furious pacing. 

PR and an exceptional military service wins out in the end. Ross slaps him with what basically amounts to house arrest for the next foreseeable future. Not that Sam was exactly complaining. After a green light to transfer him to inpatient rehab, he is not going anywhere anytime soon. 

Sam is no stranger to physical therapy. A couple breaks in his teens and a half dozen more during the first stages of flight training. But this makes Sam painful aware of his limitations. It is intensive and irritating. Doing small things are suddenly a big victory, and he is proud of each of them. He pushes himself until the nurses all but command him to stop. But he doesn’t. He is sick of hospital beds and the smell of disinfectant. He wants to pace, to move. He wants to run.

Sam is already up by the time the sun breaks the horizon. He should call the nurse. Barely a week into inpatient, he is _supposed_ to call the nurse. He eyes the wheelchair across the room ruefully as if he really had the ability to reach it let alone go anywhere. But he could always try.

“I wouldn’t,” a familiar voice says quietly. 

A small smile comes to Sam’s lips. “You come all the way here to tell me what to do?”

Footsteps sound on the linoleum. Natasha comes into view dressed in an aide’s uniforms and sporting a brunette look. She smiles when their eyes meet and she bends to give him a short, firm hug. “I know better than to try.” She takes a good look at him, and it is as though she is reading a file. “How are you feeling, Sam?” 

“How am I feeling?” The question has become grating. He cannot bear to hear it anymore without gritting his teeth and biting back a scathing retort. The smile slips slightly and loses the glow of happiness. “I feel tired, you know? I feel...hurt. I feel weak.” 

“You’re improving, Sam,” she says gently. “And you’re not weak.”

“But I feel it.” He gives a dim smile. “Do me a favor? Let’s not talk about this.” He gestures down at the hollow space beneath the thin sheets. 

“Ok.” Natasha folds her arms loosely across her chest, eyes going to the floor. Lips pursed in thought for a heavy second before she looks back up at Sam with a wry smirk. “I had a whole conversation planned out. Can you believe it? You’d think I’d know better.” 

“Sorry to throw a wrench in your plans.” A beat. “How is it out there? How are the others?” 

She takes a seat on the edge of the bed, her hair falling in front of her face. Almost absentmindedly, she begins picking at a bit of stitching that had come apart on her sleeve. “Everyone’s scattered. I haven’t heard much from anyone.” 

Heart beats hard against breastbone. “And Steve?” 

“I always know where to find him.” She tucks her hair behind her ear and gives him a small smile. “He stays close, keeps the hospital in range. He misses you, he’s just afraid it’ll make things worse for you if Ross finds out you guys have been sneaking around behind his back.” 

“Not you though.”

“I never could resist a little trouble. Besides, a jail break could do me some good.” She bites the inside of her cheek. “He really does want to see you, you know. All he does is whine and sulk. I don’t know how you can stand him,” she jokes halfheartedly. 

“Every so often he does something pretty spectacular.” Sam smiles softly. Then the smile disappears almost  
as quickly as it came. “Tell him not to stick around for me? There’s no...there’s no reason to stay.” 

Natasha takes his hand in hers, leans close to stare at him with undivided attention. “You’re a pretty damn good reason.” 

Sam gives her hand a brief squeeze. “Nat, I don’t give two shits about what Ross thinks he can do to me, but don’t get caught because of me. Either of you. Prison break doesn’t get easier a second time.” 

“Give me some credit. Not getting caught is my job.” Brow furrows slightly, and she looks almost melancholy. “You know Steve’s not going to leave you.” 

“Then you tell him there’s nothing here for him. Tell him I said I don’t want him.” A wave of sadness rises and gets caught in the back of his throat. Jaw clenches as eyes begin to sting with tears.

“Sam--”

Throat clears. “Please. Tell him whatever you have to, but he has to leave. And so should you. The last thing I want is to be stuck here knowing you guys are pacing a six by eight.” He gives a shaky sort of smile. “When this is all said and done...well, we’ll see each other again.” 

Natasha looks as if she wants to push back, to argue. And Sam is staring at her, pleading silently for her to just take the out and go. Because he hates the way things shaped out. Because being the reason they got caught would feel worse to Sam than being stuck for weeks on end in this room, in this bed. 

Natasha knows this. She tightens her jaw and resigns herself. She leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I’ll reach out. You come find me”

She slips out as quietly as she came in.

* * *

“Finished week one off PT. And don’t you look lovely.” 

Sam is laying on a mat in the middle of the rehab center. Shirt is damp with sweat and body still trembling. They had long since been left alone when the bulk of the staff had left to give way to the skeleton night crew and most patients had returned to their rooms. Sam looks over at Tony laying on the next mat over to find his likeness staring back from Tony’s phone. Tony has his phone held between thumb and forefinger above their heads, filming the completion of Sam’s carefully crafted physical regimen which he had run through at least four times. Sam drapes an arm over his eyes and drags in a ragged inhale. 

“Damn it--are you still filming?” 

“Only for posterity. A year from now and you’ll be flying rings.” An awful shudder of despair makes his chest ache. An uneasy feeling creeps up his spine. Sam sits up and braces himself with heels of palms pressed to the mat. “Turn it off, Tony.” 

Tony drops his phone and moves to sit up just out of arm's reach. He taps his phone against the palm of his free hand. “Alright. You rest a couple minutes and we can head back to your room. You missed last call; I know a great place nearby that delivers.” 

Sam wipes sweat from the bridge of his nose with shirt collar. “Tony, what are you doing here? Aren’t there Girl Scouts in New York you should be giving business advice to?”

“Sure but I thought I’d do a fly by and see how you were doing. Here let me help.” Tony stands as Sam pushes himself closer to his wheelchair. 

“I can do it.”

“I know you can. I’m just saying you pushed yourself pretty hard today. Maybe take it easy for a minute? It’s only week one.”

Mouth twists in a frown for a brief second before Sam nods once. Tony kneels so Sam can wrap his arms around his neck. Tony stands, feet braced and careful sets Sam back in his chair to a quiet thanks. 

“It’s been weeks since I last saw you,” Sam says as he adjusts. 

“To be fair, last time I saw you you said, and I quote ‘Fuck off you capitalist assclown.’ Then there was something about choking on my caviar, me being a 'dickasaurus', and it being my fault everything went to hell. At least, I think that’s what you were screaming at me.” 

Sam’s nose wrinkles at the vague memory and murmurs a curse beneath his breath. "You got me day after I kicked my meds. I'm sorry, Tony."

Tony waves “There were a lot, I mean _a lot_ , of swears and very little breathing time so I figured I’d give you some space. Couple weeks worth.” A beat. “They try and kick you back to morphine?” 

“Yeah, for awhile. It's all OTC now.” 

“Still getting muscle spasms?” 

Brow furrows. “Water therapy helps.” 

“Still taking anti-inflammatories?” 

“Tony, are you fishing for something?” 

“Move to the compound?” 

Sam is almost certain he misheard until Tony says it again. 

“It’s big. It’s empty,” Tony says, growing slightly more animated by the second. “The doctors we got lined up are just as good as the ones here. You can use the residencies as your permanent address. Your sister could take a dorm to visit. You don’t even have to see me if you don’t want to, the workshops nearly on the other side of the compound.”

Sam holds up a hand. “Wait. This is one of the best inpatient hospitals this side of the coast. You said so yourself. Why would I move to the compound?” 

Tony bites the inside of his cheek. “Because...because it’s someplace familiar.” 

“Try again.” 

Corners of the mouth turn down in a brief frown. “You’re not going to stay here forever.”

Sam watches him carefully, watches the way Tony folds his arms tight over his chest and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “What’s going on? Really.” 

Lower lip is played between teeth. “Everyone’s worried about you.” 

Sam turns his chair toward the door. “Who’s everyone? You’re the only one here and my sister is the only one that calls.” 

“Don’t think I didn’t find out Nat came to see you.” 

“That a violation of my detention? Guess you’d better arrest me, Officer,” Sam jokes halfheartedly. He tilts his head back to look at the other with a small smirk. 

“Don’t be smug about it,” Tony says lightly. A sense of seriousness dims his face. “She told me herself. I found Steve’s apartment too.” 

Sam faces away from the other. “I don’t have anything to do with Steve.”

“I heard about that one, too.” Tony sucks in air sharply between teeth. “You’re lashing out, pushing people away. I get you not wanting to see me even Rhodey. Hill said you were barely there when she came to see you. You barely gave Nat two minutes. You won’t let your sister visit. Last time I saw you, you were _screaming_ at me to leave you alone.”

“And yet here you are.”

“I’m naturally obstinate. And you haven’t told me to leave yet.”

“I’m debating a more direct approach.” 

A mix of frustration and sadness is etched in the lines of Tony’s face. “You don’t return my messages or call. I wrote you a postcard for god sake. You are pulling from everyone who can still come see you. Steve is MIA while he’s public enemy number one, and yet you still manage to try and push him away.”

Sam turns back to the other, brow furrowed and lips twisted in a slight frown. “You don’t get to comment on my relationship with Steve.” 

“Fine. But it still stands: you’re isolated. I want to be here but not if you’re looking at me like you did Vision. I meant it when I said you didn’t have to see me if you didn’t want to, but at least there are people you know there. And if it’s my fault that you’re pushing people awa--”

A hollow, humorless laugh wells up in Sam’s throat like a sickness. “Do you hear yourself? This isn’t about you. Honestly, I don’t care whether I see you or not, whether it’s here or there. Look at me, Tony.” Sam grabs a handful of his USAF shirt that hangs off his frame. Loss of muscle mass and months in a hospital bed decimated him. Muscles are still stiff, don’t move quite the way he wants. He still gets winded doing simple exercises. “A few months ago I could barely sit up on my own. Few weeks before that my food was coming in through a tube in my nose. Have you seen my hospital entry file? It reads like I’ve been rammed by a pickup. I can’t sleep anymore without replaying that fall like it’s ingrained in me now, you know? And sometimes, Tony, I swear I feel the sheets on my thigh or a twinge where my calf used to be and that freaks me out more than anything. So, excuse me if I look at you a little funny, or I’m too preoccupied to hold a conversation with Nat.” 

“What about a conversation with Steve?”

“I told you--”

“I’m not commenting on your relationship. I’m saying…” Tony takes a breath and delves his hand into the pocket of his pants to come up with a folded scrap of calendar paper that he holds out for Sam. “I went to Steve’s apartment. It’s a few blocks over. He wasn’t there but...Look, if Steve Rogers wasn’t persona non grata then he would come, but this place is buttoned up tighter than Ross’s uniform. At the compound, damn I’m going to regret this, at the compound there may be a way for Steve to come see you.” 

Lips purse in thought for a brief second. “That’s emotional blackmail.” 

“There’s plenty of it to go around.”

Sam takes a slow breath and unfolds the scrap of paper handed to him. On it, drawn in ballpoint pen, is Sam’s likeness in profile. Lines of almost haphazard design create shadow and boundaries, careful consideration shown to eyes and mouth. Thumb runs along the creased edge as thoughts begin to collide. 

“You don’t have to decide right now. I mean, you still have--”

“Why?” Sam asks. Eyes go from drawing to Tony. It is still strange, looking up at Tony. The vantage point rubs him the wrong way. But he shakes off the feeling, sets his jaw. “After all this, you’d let Steve onto the compound?”

“He doesn’t get a free pass for what he did,” Tony says firmly. Then his face softens. “But you should be with people you love while you recover. If Ross catches Rogers then it’ll have to be without me. At least for a while. I’m not helping him hide, you understand? But this isn’t a trap or a trick.” 

“I didn’t think it was." Sam runs his thumb over the scrap of paper and gives a quiet sigh. "I understand why you're here. Really, I do. You’re a stubborn ass with a choke hold on the word friendship.” 

Tony narrows his eyes. “Thanks?” 

“I mean, I told everyone else what they needed to hear so they could leave. You? You just keep showing up. Now you’re talking about letting Steve into the compound. It was one thing to put pressure on Ross. I can even understand your sudden obsession with creating prosthetics. But this? This is your _job_. You signed the Accords. If Ross finds out then you _will_ go to prison.” 

Tony’s gaze shifts away from Sam as a wry smirk plays on his lips. “You think your boyfriend would bail me out?” 

“I’m serious. Tony, if this is about what I said...I don’t blame you. I didn’t mean--” 

“You meant it.” Tony folds his arms tight over his chest and meets Sam’s eye, smirk tinged with dejection. “You cold turkey-ed your pain meds and you were kinda out of it so yeah, I got over it pretty fast.No harm, no foul. But see, the thing is,” Tony breathes, “my actions had consequences same as you and Steve. I’m just...trying to contain my spill. And as long as I don’t know Boy Wonder is around then I’m not technically in violation.” 

“Tony-”

“All you have to do is say yes.” Tony looks at him pleadingly. “Everything else is an addendum.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> corporate projects, i am tired so this is short

Per court ordered house arrest, Sam is confined to the Residencies and the grounds within thirty yards of them. This puts him just inside the tree line separating residencies from armory and training grounds. Strike team training exercises can be heard echoing the field and bounce their way through the trees. While Sam works on his PT, keeps his routine, they can be heard working on their exercises and going through their obstacles and weapons training. It makes him feel restless. 

For about a week, Sam sees bits and pieces of the others. Tony passes through every now and again talking mostly to himself, Pepper stops by for coffee once or twice, Rhodey checks in on his way to oversee a flight exercise. But even now that there is room away from under the general’s thumb, Sam still cannot seem to catch his breath. He squirms in the uncomfortability of it, the restlessness. He needs someone to occupy stir crazy thoughts. And he knows Steve is not about to walk through the door as if the past several months had not happened, but it doesn’t stop Sam’s gaze from wandering to the door every so often. Low expectations do not stop disappointment.

It rains midway through the second week. It makes bones ache. Atmospheric pressure makes joints swell. Sleep is difficult. Sam pushes his wheelchair up and down halls half lit. Rain hammers against the wide windows overlooking the residency’s lawn. The compound is sprawlingly empty and Sam is feeling more restless than ever. He tries to slow his breathing, to focus on something other than the bone-weariness and the ache and the solitude. He focuses on the wheel grips in his palms and droplets pelting glass. 

Sam stops by one of the windows, tightlipped and buzzing. Hands grip wheel so tight that knuckles pop. Seconds are counted between lightning flashes to thunder claps. Tension unravels slowly from shoulders. Thoughts quiet and breathing slows. 

The air is heavy and warm. Rain bounces off glass, off walkway. It drums against the ground and trees. Sam sits back in his chair having lulled himself into an almost meditative state. Ear hardly catches the sound of his name echoing in a stage whisper from down the hall. 

It takes a moment before Sam comes into full awareness. It takes a moment before he drags his gaze away from rain patterns rearranging themselves on window panes. He thinks of Steve and wonders briefly if it is raining where he is. And Sam tries to recall the color of Steve's hair and the sound of Steve calling his name. Calling his name. Name is called again. Brow furrows in confusion, unsure really if he is asleep or awake. 

“Goddamn, Sam, you around here?” Steve’s quiet call comes from around the corner. 

Sam backs away from the window, calling the other’s name like a question. And no sooner does name leaves lips does Steve poke his head from around the corner. 

There comes a second where it is as if the entire universe seems to pause. The world holds a collective breath. Then Sam is leaning forward with Steve’s name leaving his lips in a strangled cry. 

Steve launches himself from around the corner at near full speed in his excitement. He vaults down the dim lit hall, sneakers squeaking on the tile. For a brief second, Sam thinks Steve is going to bowl right into him. Hands go to brace wheels. Steve seems to catch himself at the last second and pulls up fast. Sneakers, slick with rain, squeal with protest. Rain soaked and quickly losing any sense of traction, Steve falls and slides into the hands come up ready to meet him. Momentum carries them back slightly. Steve is curving himself around the wheelchair to lay his head on Sam’s lap. And Sam is grabbing hold of rain-soaked hoodie to hold the other as close as possible. They stay that way for a moment until Steve lifts his chin. 

“I’m sorry.” Blue eyes are wide and watery. Voice is quiet. “I’m soaked.” 

A small laugh builds in Sam’s chest. He sits back with a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Word and thought crumble under the weight of wanting. Sam can only ghost his knuckles along the curve of Steve’s jaw, traced the bridge of his nose, brush back the waterlogged hair. 

“I missed you,” Steve breathes. “God--I’ve missed the hell out of you.” 

Sam laughs before pulling Steve up to meet him in a kiss. 

“I can forget that message Natasha relayed then?” 

“Forget it. It never happened.”

Steve braces himself on the arms of the chair. He is dripping, droplets falling onto Sam’s arms and thighs, wetting his clothes. His eyes are welling, spilling over with tears. “I’m sorry.” 

“I know.” Sam raises his hand to cup Steve’s cheek. Thumb brushes away water or a tear. “It happened, Steve, and I’m still here.” 

Steve hesitates for a brief second as if about to speak. Instead, gaze flicks between eyes and lips. He leans in, kisses the bridge of Sam’s nose, his brow, cheek, lips. Steve kisses him again and again as if he could never get enough. 

Sam feels enveloped by Steve. Head spins, heart skips beats. Breath is rushing from his lungs. And just when he grows dizzy from so much want and contact, Steve pulls back. Hand calloused from shield grips comes to rest at the base of the airman’s neck. A kiss goes to his brow. Steve lingers there, skin cool and breath warm. 

“I love you,” he breathes. 

Steve wheels Sam back to his room or rather he leans over the chair loosely draped over his love as he walks and Sam steers them back.  
Sam moves to sit back against the headboard, clothes slightly damp from where Steve had held him. He gestures to the drawers of clean shirts before pulling his own over his head. Mouth tightens at the trouble of simple movement.

“You hurt?” Steve asks, shirts in one hand and towel drying his hair vigorously with the other. 

“I’m fine.” Sam eyes one of the shirts. Arms crosses loosely over torso to cover the laparotomy scars. “You going to hand me my clothes or should I sit here half naked?” 

“Would it be so bad if you did?” Steve moves closer to take a seat perpendicular of the other. He leans close to press soft kisses up Sam’s shoulder, his neck. His fingers dance across Sam’s chest to hook around a thin metal chain. The quiet clink of dog tags echoes the silence. “I didn’t know if you’d kept them.” 

“I figured I could sell it online if you never came back,” comes the halfhearted quip.

A laugh is dragged out of the soldier. “Who put the idea in your head I wouldn’t come back for you? How could I leave my favorite man?” Words get tripped up in a stuttering breath. And for a second the soldier does not seem to really see Sam. Eyes go distant and teary-eyed. Steve shakes himself, sniffs and drags a smile onto his lips. 

"Steve..."

"You know I was always coming back." Callous hands run over bare planes of Sam’s arm, stops as fingers graze the fresh scar curving along elbow. After a second’s hesitation, he drags his thumb across it very tenderly. “Are you doing ok here, Sam? Did you talk to your sister yesterday, they had your cousin’s birthday at her house. Are you still doing numbers games? Look, I got you a book.” Hand goes the back pocket of still soaked jeans. A small book of Sudoku puzzles gets held out, pages damp and corners curling.

Sam reaches out to take the book and before he knows it his vision has gone bleary. Tears are welling up and clinging to lashes. Book falls to lap, and Sam covers his face because he is on the verge of sobbing and he hates that someone has that ability to make him ugly cry at a well-timed grocery store booklet. “Jesus--Steve, where have you been? I really...I really missed you.”

Steve takes Sam’s hand between his own. “I know. I stuck around as much as I could. Ross really upped patrols after the supermax breakout so I hid out in West Virginia for awhile, laid low until things quieted down.” Hands knead forearm, bypassing newly healed elbow, works bicep. “I floated in and out of the city until I heard you cut off pain meds. Of course, I get there and Ross himself is meeting the Chief of Surgery.” Steve lifts Sam’s hand to his lips and presses kiss to palm. “Tony was flying in. The place was crawling with guards. I tried to signal you but you were getting into it with your nurse.” 

“Jordan had hands like a bear.”

Conversation is forgone and Steve is simply touching for the sake of it. Fingers flit over carotid and healed collarbone. Fingertips trace over chest, ghosts over mended cracked and broken ribs. Occasionally, they flinch away from ropey scars. Steve is tight lipped as he looks up at Sam. The silence is echoing and they stare unflinchingly at one another.

“I really could have used you,” Sam says quietly. “There are things I can’t say to my sister, and things I don’t want to say to the others.”

“Let’s get out of this place," Steve says suddenly. 

A beat. “I can’t go on the run with you. Literally.” 

“They’ve got wheelchairs for everything. I’m serious. Clint’s got a cabin in Virginia that’s off the map. We can stay there.” 

“You hate the woods _more _than I do.”__

__“So we’ll live on a yacht.” Steve lays back, sprawled across the edge of Sam’s bed. “We’ll drink cheap beers and fish for whatever the hell it is people fish for. We’ll actually see places instead of just fighting in them. Maybe we’ll live on a beach and watch the sunrise. Maybe we’ll finally have time to read a book.”_ _

__Eyes close against a dull pain throbbing in his bones. “You couldn’t stand still that long. The people still want Captain American, and they still need Steve Rogers. Don't tell me you're giving up on it because we lost.”_ _

__An irritated breath. Steve turns away from Sam, biting at the inside of his cheek. “I fought because there were people that needed to be protected. But what’s the point if I’m not around to protect the people closest to me? What’s the point of being Captain America, of fighting so hard, if it’s going to get the people I love most hurt or killed?” Steve sits up again and takes in the sight of Sam from head to toe . “I knew...I knew we were going to have to navigate things differently. I thought we would have to look at each other differently.”_ _

__“Because I’m on house arrest or because I can’t walk?” Sam asks in clipped tone._ _

__Steve gets himself near nose to nose with Sam. “Because there’s a warrant out for my arrest in almost every country in the world. Because I wasn’t there when you needed me most. Because I didn’t know if you blamed me for this as much as I blamed myself. I'm not looking at you different-least not 'cause of that. I let 'Captain America' get too big. I was so goddamn sure of myself. I'm looking at you different because I was sure you would blame me too."_ _

__Sam presses a kiss Steve’s nose. “I don’t blame you. I’m glad you’re here...even if I’m being combative. And I don't blame Tony either,” Sam says quietly. “We knew no one was going to get out of there unharmed. Maybe if I had turned sharper or maybe if I flew better...maybe if I had just looked then maybe I--”_ _

__Lips are pressed to his, swallowing words and their melancholy tone. Steve kisses him until breathless, until Sam’s head spins and he forgets the meaning of hurt._ _

__“Don’t think that. If you could, would you tell Riley he should have turned faster or flew better?” Knuckles ghost over bare skin, over scars both old and new. “Don’t ever put this on yourself. And don’t think I’m going to love you any different because you can’t walk. You’re still Sam Wilson, snarky preacher’s son and amazing human being. You’re still my man. And I let you down in the worst way but I’m here and I’ll stay here until one hundred Strike teams come and drag me away.” Steve showers him in kisses. Kisses go to closed lids, bridge of nose, the corner of his eye, his chin. Lips brush over cheekbones and jawline. Palms are just as eager to touch and traverse bare skin as if to map every inch._ _

__The rain abates somewhat during the night to a steady downpour. The midnight hours are filled with ceaseless, easy conversation that continues until the sun breaks the horizon and eyes grow heavy with sleep. And Sam falls asleep laughing softly at a good bad joke._ _

__He wakes now, stiff as a board and still filled with a feeling of relief. Eyes open almost lazily to look out the window he can’t remember ever opening the curtain of. Outside is a grey haze, rain blurred picture of a tree line he cannot get close to. Sam draws in a slow breath. No soon does he let it out then he feels the bed dip beside him. A kiss is pressed behind his ear, breath warm against his skin._ _


End file.
